


Heartbeat Lullaby.

by Mad_as_rabbits



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M, One Shot, brallon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-17
Updated: 2014-04-17
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_as_rabbits/pseuds/Mad_as_rabbits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple Brallon one-shot involving a restless Dallon that can't get to sleep without a shot of his night time medicine that only Brendon can supply. Preferably without waking the rest of the tour bus up. </p>
<p>(Requested by a anon via Tumblr. Hope it's to your liking!)</p>
<p>// Disclaimer; none of this is real. I don't know the guys, don't own the guys, and this was just plucked from the depths of my Panic! shipping mind. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartbeat Lullaby.

The bus was silent, except for the constant low hum of the mini-refrigerator and heavy snores rumbling from closed curtains. All bunks were rightfully claimed by exhausted bandmembers, though not all are currently busy sleeping. 

Dallon can't sleep. No matter how long he lays there within those four confiding walls of his wooden box, misty blue-grey eyes lazily casting glances to the ceiling as his mind wondered- always running and swirling, like a washing machine that constantly kept churning the same thoughts over and over again; rest just would not come. 

The puffiness around his eyelids had grown sore from being overworked, even blinking seeming to take more effort than necessary. There was only so many times the bass player could glare at the harsh contrast of his phone's lit up screen against the darkness that surrounded him, and with frustration only gnawing away with more intensity after every sleepless second, he finally gave up trying. He flung his mobile to the other side of the bunk, hearing the device land with a soft 'thud' at the foot of his covers. The only sign that he cared of the outcome was a lingering bored sigh that yawned from his stretched jaw, bringing a hand to rub restlessly at the ache of his eye-socket. Oh, how he wished sleep would meet him half way, and finally bless closed eyelids with a kiss, granting him permission to drift off to the land of dreams. 

Somewhere between Kenny and Spencer's muffled snoring and wordless mumbling from their own bunks, another sound catches Dal's attention. Foot steps. A soft landing of feet meeting the carpet of the bus's floor, before light steps echo away from his where Weekes hides away inside his bunk. His breath holds within his numbed lungs as he listens, trying to quiet the own beat of his pulse in his eardrums so that he could focus on the movement happening from the other side of the blacked-out curtain. 

There was some faint clattering of the fridge door being swung open, bottles rattling against eachother from the door's shelving as the buzz of the bulb beams into light. Then, a gentle hum of a voice- velvet soft, instantly easy on the ears, as if the smallest of tone was enough to wrap any individual within a silk blanket, soothing and comforting the deepest of anxieties that dwell in the darkest of crannies.

There was only one man that Dallon knew that owned such a voice, and as he overheard lazy notes being hazily hymned from the small kitchen area, it only caused the older musician to smile with fondness of witnessing such a scene at 4am.   
It had been awhile since himself and Brendon had managed to have a little one-on-one time, away from prying eyes and tab-hanging lobes. 

Dallon's body is shifting inside his bunk before his mind had made the final decision to join him, long lanky legs swinging to the side till they dangle from over the edge of his high up bed. He pulls the material of the curtain to the side, finally revealing the open plan of the bus. Spencer's snoring seems slightly louder now, and he slowly slides himself down till barefeet meet the dark blue carpet of the narrow corridor. He eyes the sleeping drummer cautiously from the other side of his closed off cover as he now stands directly in front of it. Teeth meet the plush of his bottom lip, nervously nibbling as he turns to creep away from their nests. The only give away that Spencer either notices nor cares is a loud hazily groan as he rolls on over to bury his face deeper within his thin pillow, and Dallon can only let out a silent sigh of relief when he manages to sneak light steps past all assigned bunks, and the light glowing from the still open fridge becomes his becan- his lighthouse amongst the sea of darkness.

Stood there, back facing him and the slight orange tint of the fridge's bulb cutting a V shape through the confided space, casting dim shadows against curves and dimples of ample pale skin, was Brendon. He wore nothing but a pair of fitted black boxers that sat low at chiseled hips, only seeming to help intensify every outline of subtly toned muscle and the almost feminine shape of his waist and lower half. Everybody knew that Urie liked to sleep as close to as in the nude as possible- sometimes even stripping clean off of everything to pretty much achieve so. But due to complaints from some of the other guys that have to share a tour bus with a careless naked dude, he seemed to have kept the stripping off to just the boxers, which pleased a lot of people more than seeing a full on exposure in the middle of the night from Brendon forgetting to fully close his curtain and bandmember's getting up in the middle of the night for a piss. 

Dallon wouldn't have mind, though. But his vote didn't seem to count in the toll of if the clothes were really necessary.   
Brendon must have been preoccupied to notice the bass player standing there within the entrance, tired eyes dully taking in what they can from the view being offered- mostly the deep set of creased dimples that sit perfectly at the curve of Urie's lower back, just before it reaches that beautiful wave that carves against his spine where back meets ass. And God, don't get him started on that ass- the black material of his boxers working as a layer of second skin against the perkiness of toned cheeks, and well, if that was all that the lead singer was offering him to look at at the moment, who was he to refuse such a sight?

It was then that the younger musician turns, the dark of his eyes shifting from the sandwich that holds within one hand to gaze like a rabbit stuck in headlights over to where Dallon perched. The light catches his pupils, reflecting the glow like little bright fireworks among a pitch black sky, and the surprise that flashes across his whole expression makes Dallon even hold his breath with some shock of being caught. It's obvious that one side of Brendon's mouth is full of bread and meat, and after what seems like a century, he slowly finishes chewing the large lump of food before forcing to swallow it down. Small crumbs cling to his thick bottom lip, and Dal can't help but to stare with some awe as Urie's tongue slips out to lap them up from corner to corner of his plump mouth. 

"Uh, hey!" He half calls, half whispers across the already limited space, obvious to remember not to wake the rest of the slumber. He offers his bandmember a almost sheepish smile, bare shoulders shrugging easily as he gestures the half eaten sandwich towards Dallon aimlessly. "Midnight snack?"

"You're a bit late. It's gone midnight." Dal replies, matching that same tone of barely whispering as his eyebrow arched in a amused manner. He eyes the sandwich up questioningly, nodding his chin in it's direction as a small wiry smile of his own is applied. "Isn't there a rule about feeding you after midnight? Something about you splitting into multiple little Brendon's that cause even more chaos and destruction?"

"Nah. That's just if you get me wet." Brendon counters back, his eyes replacing that brief moment of shock with a glimpse of something that could have been a mixture of humor and affection. It's soon hidden however, as he brings the sandwich back to his lips and takes a fresh mouthful, chomping the bread around in small bites. His back leans against the counter, his free hand lazily scratching at his bare stomach, and Dallon catches his sight fall from his face to wonder over the material of loose pajama bottoms that cover the bass player's lower half. "What are you doin' up, anyway? Don't tell me you got the munchies, too." 

"Can't sleep." Dallon brings his gaze to drop to the floor, one arm reaching up to drag fingers through a few strands of his black hair. "I've been just laying there for hours, just listening out and thinking. I'm so tired, like really- but my stupid mind won't shut off, Y'know?"

When he shifts his sight back up, he didn't expect to witness a lopsided smirk shape those full lips of Brendon's, and the slightly narrowed glare that gave off nothing but mischief made Weeke's insides churn uneasily. It was like somebody had just magically flicked a switch at the back of the singer's head, turning him from pure innocence to devious and cunning on the spot. 

Urie licks his lips, wiping the corner of his curved upwards mouth with the heel of his palm as he steadily places the remains of his sandwich down on the counter by his side. "You have a lot on your mind, Dal?" His eyebrow arches, only adding to his already menacing appearance, his chest slowly rising and falling with every shallow breath becoming almost hypnotic for the older male as he watches on. "Anything you want to share with me?"

Dallon didn't mean to swallow hard, his adam's apple bobbing within his throat, and the back of his mouth turned bitterly dry. However, he tries to put on his best casual exterior, hoping that the cloud of sleepiness that hung over him would help him carry off this easy demeanor. "Nothing exactly." He replies with a faint shake of the head, removing his sight from Brendon to admire at his own short nails absentmindedly. 

He should have kept his eyes on the prize, because by the next time he glances up, Brendon is there, directly in front of him, dark brown eyes seeming to glisten against the dim lighting. Dal's lungs already ache from the amount of times that he's had to suck in air, but he doesn't mind when it comes to Urie. The discomfort was worth that certain look of admiration that held within his gaze whenever he stood just that little inch too close. As of now, with Brendon's breath light yet warm against the flesh of his cheek, thick lips shimmering from moisture from the lap of his tongue. Fuck, this man was just beyond gorgeous. And so the shorter man thought the same about Dallon; tall, dark and immensely handsome, cloudy eyes that reminded him of a foggy rainy day, but just the right amount of spark and wit behind them to remind him of all the light and sunshine that life had to offer. 

"You sure?" Brendon breathes, dark short eyelashes fluttering low against high sculpted cheekbones as his face lingers closer, so close now that Dallon can swear all his lungs can muster is to engulf his scent. The unique scent of his own skin, slightly salty and holding that musky man smell of aftershave. Along with the finer smells of coffee, second hand nicotine smoke, and that one particular shampoo that Brendon liked to use, it all made the tastebuds at the base of Dallon's tongue tingle with delight and desire. And yet, all he could do was stand there, his own sight set low to watch how Brendon's slightly parted lips barely faulted with every short breath that left them, his own skin crawling with speckling goosebumps from the warmth that radiated from Urie's bare torso being so damn close to his own. "You know, it might make you feel better once you let it all out."

Just the tone of Brendon's voice was enough for Dallon to know that the singer was talking deeper than just being a listening ear; his voice coming out low, almost gravelly with that hint of sleepiness and late night/early morning lust. Either Kenny or Spencer grumbles from over Dal's shoulder, reminding the two of where they actually were, and who was still sleeping only feet away. But he can't drag his eyes away from Urie's features, feeling lost and drunk from drinking him in from such a close distance.

"You got all night, Urie?" He whispers, soft and delicate, and he even surprised himself at the hint of suggestiveness that tangled with his words. 

Brendon's lips tugged at one side to form a even wider smirk, a small soft scoff rippling through his throat, and his palm slips to the bare flesh at Dal's ribs, causing the bass player to halt himself from squirming from his touch.  
"For aslong as you want me, Weekes." 

With one swift tilt of heads, their lips meet instantly; hot and sweet, as if the contact had been long over due. For Dallon, that statement was more than true. They hadn't been intimate in over a week, only the occasional teasing here and there when they thought they could get away with it around the crew. Besides the performance on stage, Dallon hadn't gotten to taste that mouth or feel those hands upon him, and it was slowly driving him insane. Now, with Brendon's tongue slipping out to brush against his own, plush velvet lips moving with his finer ones, Dal was sure he could easily go insane all over again. 

Strong hands find themselves tangling against the back of Urie's head, fingers struggling to grip onto the shorter layers of hair as they tugged and teased, causing a muffled moan to rise from Brendon's throat, melting hot and full of anticipation against the back of Dallon's mouth. He swallows it down with a quiet whimper of his own as the singer's fingertips press firmer against the heat of his side, and they're chest to chest, heartbeats thumping against eachother, exchanging energy and want from soul to soul with every eager shudder.

Another loud grumble of a snore cuts through the atmosphere, sending a strike of fear to jolt through Dallon's core, and he pulls back with quick shallow breaths, eyes fluttering open to peer with caution over his shoulder back towards the bunks. But all is how he had left them only moments ago- Spencer and Kenny still long gone into the land of slumber, too busy drooling and dreaming of... well, whatever the guitarist and drummer usually dreamed about. Dallon didn't dare think about it too much.   
A hand cups at Dal's jaw, gentle yet firm, turning his head back to face those big brown eyes, now even darker as they swirl with longing- a darkness that made a warmth pool deep within the older man's gut. 

"My bunk. Right now." 

Dallon's eyes widen, and now it's his turn to look like a rabbit just about to be run over by a twelve wheeled truck. His pupils scan Brendon's face, searching for a sign of any humor, if he was just pulling his leg- but the only thing that he could read from that man was the urgency of his demand. There was no faulter, no sign of weakness, only a want and need to have Dallon exactly where he wanted him, and that was apparently in the very same bunk that Urie should be sleeping in right now. 

"Dallon. Now."

"B-But... what about-"

Before he could finish getting his words out, Dallon is blissfully choking on them as Brendon's mouth reunites with his. The singer's palm pushes flat against his stomach, half grazing and half guiding as they take a stumble back. All he can hear is Brendon's breathing against his own and the sound of the fridge door being swung closed by the heel of Urie's foot as they edge their way past, Bren leading Dal backwards towards where the bundles of snores were flowing from. But it didn't seem like he had much time to worry about that with Brendon's tongue swirling with his, fingernails scratching at his tummy. 

The cool wood of the bunk meeting Weeke's back catches him off guard, making his spine arch as a gasp leaves him, sending a small rush of air to seep against Brendon's parted lips. Not that that stops the overly enthusiastic younger musician from pushing on, bringing his teeth to bite down and suck upon Dal's bottom lip with bubbling anticipation, tongue dragging over the swelling eagerly. 

Brendon had barely uttered "duck," before his hold was found reaching to the top of Dallon's head, pushing him down past even his height till Weeke's knees giveway, and his ass is being forced to perch upon the edge of the lead's bunk. Their mouths only disconnect for a brief second, enough time for Brendon to budge their bodies further back into the wooden box, his hand warm over the patch of Dal's heart. They have just enough space for Urie to pour himself onto Weeke's lap, straddling his hips with the bass player's hands cupping at the muscle behind the thin material of his black boxers. Bren's toned arms hook at Dallon's neck, while his bandmember's short nails trace at whatever patch of skin they can reach, favouriting the softer flesh that ran the inner seems of Brendon's thighs, finding the little sighs of moans that press from him delicious to the senses. 

The singer rolls his hips against the other's, his ass applying just the right amount of pressure against Dallon's crotch, and the groan that rifled from such a subtle contact is obstructive enough to make Brendon's eyes blink open to glare up at him.   
He nips at the older male's mouth, quick and somewhat sharp, snapping Dal back to reality instantly. "Shut up." He softly hushes, lips brushing at the faint stubble of his jawline, and he's already back to leaving a trail of lingering kisses from jaw to mouth. "Spence and Ken..." 

Dallon registers the sincerity of their current situation, but with Brendon's ass comfortably nuzzling against his junk, mouth busy working against him, he couldn't seem to gather the motivation to care who overheard his moans or whines for more.   
Instead, he simply pushes himself forward, using their colliding bare chests to knock Brendon backwards till his back is resting above the covers. He obeys willingly, keeping his grip on Dallon's shoulders as his legs wrap by his waist, pulling him closer, and the taller musician is practically laying above him now, fitted perfectly between legs with crotch pressed to crotch.

They make-out for a few minutes longer, exchanging heat and sighs of appreciation, growing hard and more restless by the second as they taste and tease each other. That's till they finally part with a wet 'pop', chests heaving with lungs full of another's scent, and Brendon's words send a shiver to spasm with an electric current directly through Dallon's spine.

"Check under my pillow...quick. I need you, right now."

And so with a speed that only proved how much he wanted this too- so badly, his insides burned with as much lust as the Devil himself would be able to muster, Dallon reaches across the bunk, hand slipping under Brendon's arrangement of pillows till his fingertips finally make contact to something less soft, and more plastic. He pulls the item out, and his eyes instantly stare with pleasant surprise at the half used tube of lotion that is discovered within his grasp. 

"Brendon... you filthy fuck." He can't help but chuckle with amazement, unable to hold back the thoughts of how many times Brendon must have rubbed one out unnoticed by the others, with just a chunk of wood and a dark red curtain separating them. "How-..."

"So I have needs, big fuckin' deal." Brendon's reply is swift, barely given time for Dallon's ears to register as his mouth is forced against the singer's once more, teeth clattering together before finding that perfect fit. It's short lived, however, as Urie pulls back just enough to nuzzle Weeke's earlobe, his voice like liquid lava; scorching and causing the nerve endings inside the musician's brain to melt. "And I need you to fuck me, already."

Dallon doesn't need telling the second time. The smile instantly fades from his expression, a sense of determination and focus washing across his face in replacement as he gives Brendon's shoulder a firm shove, guiding him to return to his laying position upon the covers. The younger male obeys willingly, though the dark of his eyes never falter from those misty grays, as if his stare alone held all the urgency and demands that his aching insides longed for. 

Still half laid above Brendon's lower half, the bassplayer places his attention back to the semi rolled lotion tube, his free hand fumbling at the cap till it finally unscrewed and rolled along the covers, disappearing beneath a wave of white sheets, uncared for and surely not missed. He positions it by his side, having some relief in knowing it was already opened and ready to usage, and his hands easily skimmed to the band of his pajama bottoms. His teeth graze harshly against his own bottom lip at the sight of Brendon doing the same, the limited amount of light that the bus granted barely making the motion of fingers curling around the rim of black boxers visable, but Dallon stares intsensly enough to make sure he doesn't miss an inch of pale smooth flesh that reveals itself with every tug of material over supple thighs. He doesn't have to see Brendon's smirk to know it was there; proud and full of deep satisfaction, the intent alone could be felt swell within his veins, filling him up with so much seduction, he was sure that Urie could kill just from making a poor guy overheat with a simple curve of the lips. 

It was only when both males were fully undressed, crammed within that one bunk, and the soft mummers and snores of their fellow bandmembers from just small feet away filled the silence, that reality dared to spring back into view. Here he was, naked and hard, his core burning with lust and his head high in the clouds, with a gorgeous Brendon just as exposed and ready as he was sprawled out beneath him like some sort of holy offering to the Gods. 

The lube tube feels cold and heavy within his clenched palm, and he lets his sight flicker over the tender patches of flesh that tightly cover Brendon's stomach, travelling across sculpted hipbones, drowning in the view of revealed soft thighs. And this was it- they was going to do this right then, in that very bus still full of their closest friends, with nothing to hide them away except that one flimsy curtain. There would be no explanation if they got caught in the act, no time for second guesses or last minute excuses. 

The pair had everything dangling on a dangerously thin line, and yet, this only seemed to excite the two musicians beyond belief. 

Brendon's bare hips knock up against Dal's in a swift bump, a simple motion resembling of all the impatience that the singer was unwilling to cope with, and now was not the time for hesitation. 

The lotion is cool against Dallon's slightly sweaty palm, and he takes no time in slicking his long nimble fingers up with it, his own insides twisting with anticipation from the sensation. Brendon's legs part, spreading even further to allow the taller man to fit between them, elbows brushing against the sensative areas of his inner thighs as Weeke's hand reaches beneath and inbetween. His throat holds back a low toned groan at the sound of the singer gasping in a shallow breath from his fingertips tracing at his cheeks, gradually parting them till his touch lingers at the ring of tight muscle. It's a sight the musician often dwelled in, the image of Brendon Urie sucking in air and squirming underneath his touch, his chest rapidly panting up and down with his heart pleading to break free from his fragile ribcage. Fuck, how he adored having that man exactly where he wanted him.

One elegantly shaped finger slides on in, pushing slowly against the instinct of Brendon's muscle tightening around the digit, but the slight hiss and tiny grunt that rippled from Urie's throat grants him that familiar permission to carry on. And so with another slight push of the singer's hips against his hand, the smallest of whimpers reaching Dallon's ears from within the darkness, he brings another finger to join the other after a number of glides, having his index and middle fingers now busy burying and emerging inside of the other while Brendon sighs and grips the sheets with mild appreciation. 

But he knows Urie well enough to know that this was nothing compared to what the younger musician could really take; no, this wasn't even close to the icing on the cake. This was simply warming him up, stretching and molding him for that perfect fit that they both eagerly awaited, and for Brendon, patience never was in his favor. 

Dallon had just eased a third finger inside Brendon's entrance, all three thrusting and curling inside the singer with blessed timing when Urie's voice, deep and croaky broke his line of concentration. 

"Fuck, Dal... please. Do it, now." His eyes clenched closed, hips slightly bouncing and pushing against the bassplayer's touch, desperate and needy for more- to feel him within the deepest of pores and cracks of his skin.   
And who the fuck was Dallon to ignore such a gorgeous plead of submission? 

With a final twist of his knuckles, he makes Brendon arch his pelvis with one more spasm of sexual frustration before slipping all three fingers out at once, causing the performer to shiver almost aggressively from the sudden lack of contact. He marvels in the way his breathing quickens beneath him, lungs seeming to struggle to suck in enough air before seeping it back out again, and even in the dim lighting, he can just make out the small droplets of sweat that shimmers against the tone of Brendon's stomach like tiny jewels along precious silk. 

He shifts his weight enough to bring his lips to the flat of Urie's tummy, giving the salty skin the slightly of laps with his tongue as he slips his own hand down between his legs. His fingers curl at his own dick, the heat that radiates from his length matching the heat that smolders deep within his core, and with a few light strokes, he lubes himself up with the remaining lotion that smothered his palm. Dal's breath his hot against Brendon's bare flesh, conflicting with the cool speckles of sweat that attempted to keep the singer at regular body temperature, and failed miserably with every sensual lick from that mouth of his. Dallon lived for the sensation of Brendon's torso dipping and squirming beneath his busy mouth, gasps for air and skin prickling with goosebumps seeming more like answered prayers. It only fueled him more to please, to aim for ultimate satisfaction, and inside Brendon's bunk, the rest of the world didn't seem to matter. Even the boyish snoring seemed to fail to reach them now as heavy set lust cloaked them, dragging them further and further into the firey pits of intoxication and desire. 

The bassplayer moves himself up, lips leaving traces of feather light kisses along Brendon's center, and his hips nuzzled up against the back of the others. His already lubed up dick presses against the singer's bare asscheek, hard and hot flesh against flesh, and Urie can't take the suspense any longer. His hips rock aimlessly, agitated and beyond all control, his insides twisting and churning with so much frustration, he was sure he was going to combust. The lead's hand finds Dallon's hair, clenching firmly as he gives it a single sharp tug upwards, just enough to brush the bottom of his swollen bottom lip against Weeke's top one. 

"I need you so bad, Dallon. Please, don't make me beg you again. Please-"

Brendon's broken sound is cut short when Dallon's hips make one final alignment with his own, the tip of his cock meeting his entrance head on, and with a swift push, he's in- his dick sliding on up inside of the singer, a little rough at first, till the lubrication of both males seem to work in their favor. They both gasp, sucking in air that holds within slightly raspy throats, and Dallon's hold is found at Brendon's hip, firm yet supportive. Urie's hand is still lost in the matt of black strands, only gripping tighter once the pressure of Weeke's dick pressing up inside of him aches through him, and he clings to the other musician as if he was entrusting the man with his life. 

They pause only for a short moment, taking in the sound of their own pulses beating fast and thick from under eachother's embrace, Dallon's cock throbbing against the constricting muscle of Brendon's hole. And in that short moment, they both classed eachother as beautiful; the perfect image of everything divine and luscious, two men sharing the very same heartbeat, an intimacy worth dying for. Brendon's plump lips parted, dark eyelashes fluttering against the faint flush of pink that spreads at his cheeks, short fingernails now leaving fine red scorch lines to trail down the white of Dallon's back, making his spine arch against the welcomed burn- Dallon would forever have this image locked away within his brain, safe and cherished for many a rainy day. Only a sight of him that not every man could claim to have savored, but surely Dallon. 

It's only after a matter of thrusts that both set of hips work together, shifting and rocking off of one another in close to perfect unison, and the timing is almost a type of art of it's own. Every crash of Dallon's hips against Urie's made a whimper of pleasure slip from him, knuckles turning from red to pure white as they clench to slender shoulderblades in attempt to pull the bassplayer closer. Legs found themselves wrapped tightly around the other's waist, calves pressing against the lower of Weeke's back to help guide that inch deeper on every thrust, and his eyelids refuse to remain open with every roll of his eyes. 

The sounds of his moans and gasps for air only grow louder and more intense by every roll of the hips, though. And it's not until Brendon lets out one certain groan- a groan full of the desperation that he'd been containing for days now, that Dallon barely catches the sound of a sleepy mumble from across the bunks, slamming the realization of how noisy the singer was being harshly into recognition. 

Just as a fresh wave of pleasure washed through the pair, Dallon brings a slightly trembling hand to press across Brendon's parted mouth, muffling the hot sigh of his moan against his palm. The constriction causes Urie's eyes to snap open, the chocolate brown that surrounds his dilated pupils turned glassy with want, and he peers wide eyed over the edge of the older male's slender hand, appearing almost innocent as a few strands of damp hair swipes across his brow with another collision of hips. 

"Shhhh..." Dallon breathes, his own voice now barely a whisper, and although he listens out for any sound of movement from outside their closed off bunk, he can't bring himself to stop the pleasure from rising. This time, it's his turn to remind the singer of their surroundings. "You'll wake them..." 

Brendon can only blink once up at him, eyes bright above the pressed palm, and when Dallon's dick forces up inside him that slight inch deeper, tip brushing against his prostate, the noise that leaves his throat is a sound of pure hunger for more. It comes out deep, tangled with intoxication, pleading for him to hit that same spot again, and all he can do is gaze up at him with those wide doughey eyes that silently pleased for more, more- always more. 

Dallon does as he's unspoken-ly told, lining his hips up to find the right angle, and swiftly brings them forward, his cock sliding up easily till it hits that spot- the very spot that brings his back to arch up from the covers, every muscle tensing and shivering at once, lungs aching from gasping in too much air at once. Another cry of a strained moan pushes past swollen lips, only to be caught within Dallon's placed hand, and the bassplayer likes the thought of being able to keep such a sound within his open palm, storing it and carrying it around with him for his ears only. 

Brendon's own cock is painfully hard, red raw and glistening with pre-come as it glides against the bare flesh of Dallon's stomach with every thrust. The spaces between gulps of air and shouts of pleasure get shorter, breathing turning into full on heavy panting, and Weeke's is even beginning to struggle to contain his own cries out for relief. His palm is damp from the condensed moans that fail to leave Brendon's mouth, and both slender forms are shiny from a mild sheet of sweat. They're trembling, slightly shaking against eachother with every gaining push in and pull out, and their timing becomes faster, much quicker, and rougher- the sheets around them gathering at their thighs with every slam of contact. The wooden walls only collect the heat and scent of eachother, consuming the pair as they moved against eachother, bringing them both closer and closer to that sweet climax.

It's Brendon that caves in first, the whites of his eyes showing as the brown rolls to the back of his head, his jaw falling loose from behind Dallon's hand as it clenches to his cheeks, desperate to soften the thrilled sound of Urie's high pitched groan that proved his successful orgasm; along with the sensation of his cum spurting against Dallon's stomach, landing hot and sticky as it trickled down over his bellybutton and spilled down one thigh. 

It catches Dallon off guard, not yet prepared for Brendon to reach his climax without him even taking his dick into his own hands, but with the sensation of the younger man tightening around him, every muscle within his toned body clenching and contracting, it wasn't long till the bassplayer with chasing his own orgasm. He thrusts once, twice more- his eyes fixed upon the expression of intense pleasure, swiftly followed by ultimate content and relaxation that washes over Urie's face from behind his hand, and his own hips shake vigorously, lips parting and eyelids finally clenching shut as he cums inside of him, feeling himself instantly hot and gooey as it spills down one side of Brendon's asscheek. 

His posture gives way, his bones feeling more like paper strings than marrow, and his weight collaspses to drop on top of a heavily panting Brendon, his cheek slopperly resting above his quickly rising and falling chest as a large sigh escapes him.   
They simply lay there for a moment, living in their afterglow; dwelling in the musky scent of eachother's fluids and heat that radiates from one to another. And they breathe, long and deep, giving their system time to recover before they attempt to unpeel their naked flesh away from eachother. Though they don't move far. Dallon rolls onto his side, fitting neatly against Brendon's sweaty hip and torso, a toned tattooed arm lazily sweeping round to wrap at his shoulders, and slightly bruised lips push out to barely catch the warm skin of the older man's forehead. 

"I better go back to my bunk soon. Spencer will be awake for his run soon..." Dallon utters against Brendon's peck, lips softly brushing over the patch of skin that smoothed across his heart. But he makes no attempt to move or part from Urie's side. Only welcomes the sensation of eyelids growing heavy and the filter between light and darkness growing thinner, consciousness drifting as his heartbeat found a steady rhythm. 

Brendon's own pulse playing as a lullabye against Weeke's ear, he simply curves his lips into a fine smile, barely visable as eyelids stayed closed, a content and sleepy sounding yawn softly seeping from him. His arm tightens around slim shoulders, and his nose nuzzles against the mass of slightly damp black hair. "Mhmm... soon."

And sleep greets them both, warm and with opened arms, it's embrace comfortably caressing both men as they lay beside eachother, flesh against flesh. And soon, the sound of their own peaceful slumbers join the rest of the bus; untamed and as one.


End file.
